


out on the wire

by mozartspiano



Series: there's magic in the night [2]
Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: American AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6448630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozartspiano/pseuds/mozartspiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall is still Deputy Chief of Staff. Harry is still his assistant. </p><p>They can't kiss even though they both really want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	out on the wire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dramaturgicallycorrect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/gifts).



> title from bruce springsteen's _born to run_.

The morning after a man threw a pipe bomb at the President of the United States' limousine, begins with a literal smack in the face, followed by a loud, panicked, "Niall!"

Niall, who once had to take an entire fucking course on how to be courteous and chaste even in situations of incredible stress or confusion, yells: "What the fuck?"

In Niall's immediate vision is darkness. He lifts his head a bit and sees that the darkness is just his pillow. He turns his head. 

Harry Styles is sitting up in his bed, arms around his knobby, skinny jean knees, and eyes wide on Niall. They seems to grow even wider when Niall blinks at him twice, before they drop to his hands, tight over his calves. 

"I can't believe I slept with my boss," Harry says, evenly in the quiet of the morning.

" _Harry_ , we didn't-"

"We did! I slept here! What would my mom say?"

"Don't tell your mom about this."

"And now I have to lie to my mom. Oh my god. Is this what a panic attack feels like?" 

"Harry," Niall says, voice still croaky from sleep. His brain is still trying to put the pieces together of the night before. Harry on his front steps, Harry in his arms, Harry in his bed, Harry's mouth on his - "You need to calm down."

A second of silence. Harry's stare is blank and unwavering. 

"Oh my god." His voice is faint. "I'm Monica Lewinsky." 

Niall flops his face back into his pillow. "Harry-"

"I am. You Monica Lewinsky-ed me. I've been Monica Lewinsky-ed." 

"Harry."

Harry looks at him. His face is pressed red on the left side and his hair is- fuck, it's a mess, all soft and up like a duckling. There's crusty sleep in the corner of his eyes which are all pale this morning, like those green mints in corner stores. 

"Why didn't we take our jeans off?" Harry asks, quiet.

"Forgot."

Harry sighs with his whole body. He falls back, his head plopping back onto the pillow next to Niall. He tilts his chin over, blinks a few times. "For the record, I'm very glad you're not dead."

Niall lets his smile spread across his face. "I'm glad I'm not dead too."

The round pout of Harry's cheek looks soft so Niall touches it with a couple fingers. Harry's eyes, all tight at the corners, go a bit more gentle at that. He turns, shuffles closer, and just that, just the soft shift of Harry's skin over sheets makes something pulse in the pit of Niall's stomach, in the crease of his knee. 

"You okay?"

"I like your curtains," Harry says, real quiet, right up in Niall's face. "I never said, last night."

"Thanks. My mom got them for me."

"Your _mom_?" Harry's eyes go all liquid like a dairy cow. Niall groans. "Niall Horan, that is the sweetest thing I've ever heard. I'm going to write Maura an email and tell her how sweet she is."

"I hate that you and my mother converse."

"No you don't."

Harry's mouth feels even better this morning with the brush of morning sun on their exposed toes and the slow slide of Harry's tongue against his. He's so warm and his curls catch around Niall's hand, drawing it in until he's cupping Harry's neck, pulling him closer. 

The softest, sleepiest sounds are coming from the back of Harry's throat and Niall can imagine, for a second, never leaving the bed. He imagines never sleeping, never eating, just kissing Harry while the sun throws shadows across his bedroom. 

Niall's lips are just about to do a recon mission to map out the unexplored skin around Harry's left ear when his cellphone rings, loudly from inside his jeans. Harry shifts back and Niall reaches for it awkwardly, wiggling it out of his jeans.

It's playing _The Bitch is Back_. 

"Tommo," he says without looking at the screen.

"Where are you? Did you not stay last night?"

"President sent me home in a car, otherwise I would have been there." Niall sits up and Harry follows, looking down at his hands again. "How's it looking?"

"It's looking like the President was almost killed last night, Niall, is what it's looking like. When can you get down here? There's a senior staff meeting in an hour."

"I'll be there." 

Harry's standing when he hangs up the phone, looking out of Niall's window and onto the street. Niall thinks about slotting in next to him, slinging an arm around Harry and jostling their hips together, like he would have done yesterday, without thinking, before the kiss. Before the sleeping. Before someone threw a pipe bomb at the President's car. 

"Need something to wear?"

Harry turns, eyes all wide and frightened again. "Think wearing your clothes will be more or less bad than coming in with the same thing I had on yesterday?" 

"Less."

"Okay. Um, can I-" He gestures to the closet. Niall nods. Harry's never asked permission to touch Niall's shit a day in his life. 

Harry looks off in Niall's clothes. It's just a white button-down and a necktie with ducks on it that Harry's always found funny, but he keeps pulling at the sleeves, keeps fixing his hair. Niall confronts him in the foyer, a taxi idling just outside. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Of course I am."

"You're not Monica Lewinsky, Harry." Niall puts his hand on one of Harry's hips and Harry goes all still, wooden and weird. "I'm not the President, last time I checked, and we didn't do anything."

Harry looks at their shoes. He speaks really quiet when he says: "We didn't?"

The President of the United States almost died last night. Niall almost died last night. The whole world is at a standstill and the American people are scared and all Niall wants to do is go to bed for a bit, with Harry's stupid snoring face right there next to him.

"I'm going to figure it out."

Two blinks, a sleepy gaze. 

"I'm going to figure everything out." 

 

Niall slips into the pressroom as Louis' just finishing up his briefing. 

"Louis! Louis! Will the President be looking for other suspects in the bombing?"

"As previously stated," Louis says from his podium, "the suspect was associated with many homophobic radical groups including Parents For America and the Sons of Thunder. Both have been categorized as hate crimes by the SPLC. There is an investigation underway regarding the suspect's connections with these groups. That's all I have right now."

"Will the President be available for comments?"

"No, Suzanne, the President has to continue being the leader of the free world today. I will let you know any updates. Thank you."

Chairs scrape as Louis tumbles out of the room. There are racoon grey patches under his eyes and a million papers under one arm. He's wearing the tie from the plane. 

"Fuck," he says, lightly, before socking Niall one in the arm. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"President sent me home, Lou, you know that."

They walk the tight corridors. Niall runs his fingertips over the sharp edge of the presidential portfolio Harry shoved at him. Harry hasn't looked at him since the moment in the foyer. He kept his wide eyes on the sunny streets of Washington in the cab and said everything in this weird, croaky voice that he had to keep clearing. 

"How is he?"

"Fine."

"When's the last time you saw him?"

"A meeting, couple hours ago. Matt was there."

"How's Matt?"

"Furious."

Liam meets them at the office door, takes them in. He knocks twice, pokes his head through the crack in the door. The sun's disappeared behind thick clouds, like it finally realized a near assassination is nothing to shine about. 

The President's behind his desk when they enter. His face is drooped sleepily like Louis' and his suit jacket is sprawled over an antique armchair in the corner. Matt and Toby are next to each other, shoulders tight. 

"Niall," the President says, smile small. "Did you sleep well?"

Harry's long stupid arms around him like a lonely squid at the bottom of the ocean, desperate for companionship. His hair, tangled and too wild for the White House, caught in the dampness on Niall's lower lip. The harsh sour of his breath against Niall's chin. 

"Very well, sir."

"That's what I like to hear. Louis, you're going home after the 2pm briefing. You need to sleep."

Louis opens his mouth but shuts it when Niall stomps on his toes.

"Of course, sir."

"Well I know you're not all here just to make small talk, so here it is." Matt leans forward, rubs at his eyes. "Suspect is still in questioning. The Bureau suspects he wasn't acting alone which means security has been heightened." 

"Is Reagan still closed?"

"Re-opening at 3:30."

Niall nods. He's trying to think back to his first briefing when he got the job. He doesn't remember learning what to do when your boss and friend gets targeted by a homophobic extremist who knows how to make bombs. He thinks he would have remembered that. 

"Does anyone have any good news they want to report?" 

"Yankees won," Niall says.

Toby gives him a wink. The President groans into his hands. "Sports, sports, sports. I don't understand them! I just can't do it! Remember when I had to talk to that hockey whats-it team after their championship thingy and I called it the Brandon Cup?"

Matt laughs. 

The President smiles, then straightens up his shoulders. He radiates presence and importance and Niall can feel his own spine straighten in response. "The American people are going to be scared today. They're not going to want to leave their homes. They aren't going to want to send their kids to school. We need to make them feel safe again. Okay?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. And make sure you get some sleep, all of you."

As they're leaving the office Louis gives him a hip-check, "'Cept you Niall. Already got your sleep, didn't you?"

"Fuck off."

"Oh, I meant to ask you." They're walking back to their offices now. The White House feels darker today, not quite as warm as it has been. People are forgetting to smile as he and Louis pass. "Did Harry get ahold of you last night?"

A weird flutter goes up in Niall's chest. "What?"

"This morning Tina told me that Harry called her last night," Louis says, cool as anything. "Right after it happened? He couldn't get through on your cell and apparently he sounded really bad."

"Oh." Harry's wide pink eyes, his shaking shoulders, the choked way he said _I thought you died_. "Yeah, no, he um. He got ahold of me. He's good." 

"Good." Louis rifles through a few pages in a memo. "You're having lunch with the Majority Party Leader, right?"

Is that what Harry was muttering this morning? Niall couldn't hear him over his brain: the explosion and Nick's white face on Air Force One and waking up with hair in his mouth. "Yep."

They break off. 

Harry's stood in Niall's office when he gets back, looking through a huge stack of papers. There's always at least sixteen stacks on Niall's desk at all times, but today is looks like forty five. He's got his own cityscape.

"Am I having lunch with the Majority Party Leader?"

"Yes," Harry says, not looking up. "On the Hill."

"The Hill?" Great, now Niall's going to get all sweaty and gross on the walk over. "Why couldn't it have been here?"

"Don't yell at me about it, I didn't make this decision."

"I'm not yelling at you."

Harry looks up then, to give him an unimpressed look. "And don't get a hamburger. You eat too much red meat. Your doctor told you last time-"

"Please stop."

"I'll stop when you stop trying to die at fifty."

"You know, I could have sworn my mother's name was Maura and she lived in Boston. And yet here you are."

"Here I am."

He passes Niall then, sliding a memo into his hands like he's done a thousand times. Niall stops him with a hand around his wrist.

"Hey, can we talk a second?"

The little bones in Harry's wrist feel so fragile in Niall's grip. Everything seems more fragile today. 

"I don't know what we need to talk about." His eyes are on their feet, Harry's suede boots and Niall's worn dress shoes. "We've already fulfilled our witty banter for the day."

"I'd love it if we could make eye contact."

A blink of black eyelash and then green. 

He looks - scared. Not quite the same as last night, when his body was trembling. Instead it's just a shake around his eyes, a nervousness. They're nervous around each other now. 

"What did you want to talk about, Niall?" Harry asks, quiet, not looking away.

"I wanted to-" he's cut off by a loud shout outside the office. Fuck, the door's still open. He drops Harry's wrist. "Are you free tonight? Can we talk somewhere that isn't here?" 

Harry looks out the door too, where a dozen people are flitting around and doing their job. "I don't know. I promised I would Skype my mom tonight. She's really worried."

"It would only be for a few minutes."

"I don't-"

"Harry."

"Fine!" He looks back at Niall, eyes wide and nervous. "Okay, yes. Just - let me know." 

Niall watches him leave. He keeps fingering at the curls at the bottom of his hair, pulling them taut and letting go again. When Linda leans over to chat he smiles all bright, professional. He's a good assistant. The best, maybe. 

Sighing, Niall turns back to his desk. One pile of messily stacked papers slides into another and flops onto the floor. It goes without saying but Niall really wishes a man didn't throw a bomb at the President. 

 

On the way back to his office from the Hill, Niall bumps into Louis. 

"Where the hell have you been, Saudi Arabia?" 

Niall looks down at the sweat stains on his shirt. "It's fucking hot outside and I had to go to the Hill."

"Fuck the Hill," Louis says, wrinkling his nose. "Walk me out?"

He does. Louis bought a bike two months ago when the last of the snow was melting away from the sidewalks. Every day Louis tells Niall that he's taken his _last taxi ever. Gonna be on my bike soon_. He's yet to get it out of his shed. 

"The meeting go okay?" Louis' already lighting a cigarette, cheeks hollowed as he flicks at his lighter. If Harry smells the smoke when he gets back inside, Niall's in for a lecture from hell. Harry might even bring out the powerpoint with pictures of charred lungs. 

"Fine. They're pushing back Bill-3728."

"Nice."

The trees are hanging heavy with green over their heads as Louis sucks down his cigarette. A Secret Service man watches their every move from the security gate at the front. "Hey, Lou?"

"Yeah?"

"I may have done something stupid last night."

Louis looks at him immediately. "Who did you fuck?"

"What?"

"Was it a Republican? A prostitute?"

"No, Louis, I didn't-" Niall rubs his eyes, counts backwards from ten in his head. Louis can't stop Press Secretary-ing for a second. "I didn't sleep with anyone. Promise. It wasn't _that_ stupid."

"What did you do, Ni?"

Niall picks a bit of lint out from under his thumb. "Last night, Harry was waiting at my house for me. He got freaked after I wasn't answering my phone."

Louis raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

"We may have - kissed." And now that it's out it's like Niall can't stop. "Just once. Or, a few more times. In my bed. We didn't do anything else, but like, he slept over. And we maybe kissed again this morning. Maybe."

"Niall."

"I know."

"Niall."

"I know, Louis, I know."

Louis lets out a long breath. His face has gone all sympathetic like it never is. "It can't happen again."

"I know that." And he did, didn't he? He knew the whole time. Maybe that's why Harry's mouth felt so sweet against his. Too good to last. "Of course."

"It'd be different if it were like, Harry and Tina or, like, Stacy and Toby-"

"-or you and Liam?"

Louis gives him a glare. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Who is Liam Payne? I have never met a Liam Payne."

"C'mon, Lou, I'm not blind."

"Niall." His voice is hard. "You're his boss." 

Niall's smile dims. Above him the sun hides behind a cloud. "I know."

Louis flicks his cigarette to the ground. He stomps over it with his shoe. When Niall first met Louis he wore nothing but sneakers, chunky under sweatpants. He used to take his skateboard around New Haven at two in the morning for slurpees. 

Now, both in dress shirts with fucking White House Staff badges, it might seem like everything has changed. But Louis' still a baby punk at heart and Niall still falls for people he shouldn't. They still haven't had a good night's sleep since the eighth grade. 

"So Harry, huh?"

Niall sighs. "It's not going to happen again."

Louis nods. 

 

Matt calls him in for a meeting just after four. He looks absolutely dead on his feet, hunched over his papers and perched on the edge of his desk. 

"The suspect's been talking," Matt says, eyes dreary as he looks away from his paper. "Looks like he wasn't working alone."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

Somewhere in the world there's another person with hate instead of a heart who wants to kill Nick Grimshaw. Niall runs both hands over his face, his hair. 

"Did they give any names?"

"Just a few false ones." Matt puts his briefing onto his desk. He pushes the sleeve of his right arm up. "FBI search is still underway. They're investigating the other members of the hate groups Richardson was associated with but…"

"We can't lock people behind bars just because they joined a club."

"Unfortunately no."

"We can say mean things about them though. In private. As long as no one's listening."

Matt smiles slowly, then all big. "You know I'm damn glad to have you, Niall. Don't know where I would be if we hadn't gotten you on our side."

"You'd be here," Niall says, shrugging. His face feels a bit flushed. "Probably have someone way cooler than me as Deputy. One of the President's cool famous friends." 

"We couldn't have won the election without you, Niall."

The sky outside Matt's window is patchy with clouds. Every newspaper in the building has promised Niall it will not rain today, but his knee keeps going stiff. Something's coming their way. 

"Well, I just wanted to let you know. I'll keep you posted."

"Do you need anything from me?"

"Keep doing your job," Matt says, smiling. "Drop in on Toby and read over his last draft. He never says anything but we both know he's going to have a breakdown if someone doesn't praise him for his genius."

Niall laughs, goes to leave. "Anything else?"

"Get some sleep."

"You're the one that needs to go home, Matt. All of you. I slept last night while the rest of you were here."

"I'm leaving after a meeting with the Defence Secretary." Matt pokes him in the stomach, hard. "And you slept about three hours last night before you were brought back in here. I want you to go home, Niall, and get some proper rest."

"Yes sir."

Ian waves to him as he leaves the office. He can't get Matt's words out of his head. Another suspect. There's a particular kind of helplessness to Niall's job. He's one of the most powerful men in the world. He has access to almost every secret document, gets to give counsel to the leader of the free world when Russia gets a little too friendly with their nuclear arsenal. And yet - 

Toby's sitting in the dark when he arrives at his office, the glow of his laptop making him ghostlike. 

"You okay, pal?" 

"This speech is shit, Niall."

"Alright, Tobe," Niall says, rolling his shoulders. "Let's have a look at it."

 

Harry's waiting for him on a bench in Lafayette Square. 

"You took your time."

"Had to go back to the office." Niall sits down next to Harry, careful to keep a foot between them. 

"Niall, we work in the same office."

Harry's eyes are all pale in the dying sunlight and Niall can't look at them for too long. He looks at their feet instead. For as long as Niall's known him, Harry's been wearing different versions of the same brown boots. These ones are ripping at the toe. He'll need a new pair. 

"How did your meeting with the Swedish Ambassador go?" Harry asks, all soft.

"Good. Thinking about going to Stockholm in November, you in?"

"November?" Harry's nose crinkles up and Niall can't help but laugh. Though born in Wisconsin, Harry can't handle it when the weather goes under fifty degrees. He once suggested that Nick move the White House to California. Matt had to intervene when Nick, instead of laughing, had gone _well, he does have a point-_

"Did you have a good day?"

"They were serving falafel in the mess hall. I had way too much."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Harry's smiling now, tentative. "Ian and I sat together. He showed me his latest dot-to-dot."

"Marilyn Monroe?"

"Lauren Bacall." 

"He just can't get enough of those dead movie stars."

Harry smiles, looks down. Niall would like to put this conversation on hold forever, but the sun's sinking over the horizon and the longer he looks at Harry the more he wants. 

"So, um, what I wanted to say-"

"Niall, can I go first?" Harry asks. Like this, with the sun in his eyes and a soft lightness across his cheeks, Niall can't deny him anything. 

"Yesterday was probably the scariest moment of my life. You weren't answering your phone and I really did think you were dead. So I sat on your porch for hours, waiting for you to get back. I didn't even look at my phone, like Ian texted me, told me everyone was okay. But I didn't even really care, because I wouldn't believe it until I _saw_ you and-"

Harry's thigh is warm under Niall's hand. He thumbs at it and Harry takes a breath in. 

"I don't think I realized, until we kissed, how I felt about you. Feel. About you." Harry swallows. Niall's heart does a triple back flip. "I really really like you, Niall."

Niall looks up. The sun cuts a weak blaze across Harry's face. It turns his hair golden at the ends of his curls. He looks so fucking hopeful.

"Harry, I'm your boss."

In a snap, Harry's face drops. "I- I know that. I know it wouldn't be, like, easy but."

"It's impossible."

"I know we fight all the time," Harry says, voice suddenly hurried. "And you don't think I'm smart enough and you hate my football team and you're my - my boss, but I think we could be really great together. I think it would really work."

Niall takes his hand off Harry's thigh. "I think you're smart, Harry."

"But I didn't go to _Yale_ so I'm not-" He cuts himself off, takes a breath. "I know you like me too. You told me you would work everything out."

"I tried, Harry, but-"

"And you kissed me. This morning, when you knew how stupid it was, you kissed me. You wanted me."

"It's not a question of want," Niall says. His voice sounds hoarse. 

"What it is then?"

Harry's eyes are pale. He has a little mole just off his chin and Niall tries to remember if he kissed it. It seems a waste, now, that he never did. Why did he never kiss it? 

"What happened last night can never happen again," Niall says. "I am your boss. We work at the White House. If it ever got out that I was screwing my assistant, the entire Grimshaw Administration would be compromised."

Niall watches a squirrel run past. The sun's hidden behind some heavy clouds. 

"Screwing your assistant?" Harry says, faintly. 

When Niall looks over Harry has a hand curled up into his hair. His eyes are wet, glassy. 

"That's how the press would see it, Harry, you and I both know that."

"No, no, no, of course," Harry says, standing up. His eyes keep flying around, looking anywhere but Niall. "I'm only sorry you didn't really get around to screwing me. Might lose your job over nothing."

"Fucking hell, Harry, you know I didn't-"

"No." Harry steps back as Niall stands. Niall puts a hand out to fucking placate Harry somehow, touch him or something, but Harry just stares at it. "No, you're right Niall. I'm sorry. I've been an idiot. This was really stupid."

"Please sit down."

"I have to go home," Harry says, tears spilling over now. Something cracks in Niall's chest. "I don't want to be here anymore. I'm really sorry." 

"You didn't do anything," Niall says. "You didn't do a thing wrong."

"I have to go," Harry says and then, as an afterthought, "Sir." 

Niall flinches. 

Harry turns, leaves, arms tight around himself. He keeps his head down, curls covering his face, until he's gone. 

 

It's late when Niall bumps into Nick just outside the Roosevelt Room. 

"Sorry," he says before looking up and - "Mr. President! I didn't expect you to be here so late."

"Me neither," Nick says, smiling softly. His eyes drift to half mast. "Why aren't you home yet? I thought I gave Finchy strict instructions to send you all off by carrier pigeon if need be."

Niall laughs. "I wanted to finish up a few things. I guess."

Nick looks at him for so long Niall fidgets. "Do you want to play a game of chess?"

"Um." Of the long list of odd things Nick's said to him this doesn't even remotely make top thirty but it still throws him. "Sure. Yes? Where?"

"C'mon," Nick says, grabbing Niall by the shoulder.

They play in the Oval Office, table stuck between two couches. Nick sets up his record player first though, because of course he does. He had a company set up an impeccable sound system before he moved in. All the records he wants nearby are kept in Matt Fincham's office, in his closet. The rest are stored back in the Residence. 

"Who's this?" Niall asks, jutting his chin towards the record player. 

"Jon Bellion," Nick says, bopping his head from side to side and moving his black pawn to match Niall's white pawn. "One of his early mixtapes."

"It's cool."

"Makes me think of New York." 

Nick's casual during chess, easy smiles and constant fidgeting, but Niall knows he always wins. Fincham's won exactly twice against him in their entire time being friends. He still talks about it sometimes. 

"You know I was supposed to have a group of students here today."

Niall looks up from his rook. "Yeah?"

"Mm." Nick takes Niall's pawn with a knight. "They were high school freshmen from Fairfax, in Virginia. Wrote essays on what colleges they've always dreamed of going to. I got a copy of an essay written by a girl who said all she wanted was to get away. I know what that feels like."

Niall smiles. Nick Grimshaw grew up in Brooklyn, went to NYU, never travelled farther east than Plymouth until he was almost twenty-eight. He was smart and kind and hardworking but poor and that meant he didn't get to go to Brown or Stanford, even though he got into both.

"The kids didn't come for obvious reasons," Nick says, waiting on Niall for his next move. "So we set up a video chat over Skype. They're some smart kids. Probably going to end up here someday. Or better."

"We should hire them now. The new interns we have are…" Niall lets himself trail off, laughing when Nick does. "I mean filing things isn't that complicated. Right?"

"They all start at the bottom. Young Liam used to run into my office terrified every time I screamed. He learned, eventually, that I scream constantly. There is no end to my dramatic flair." 

"You're just expressing yourself."

"Exactly."

Nick's winning. Niall can already see he's lost so he goes for Nick's queen even though it's a stupid move. 

"Oooh, Niall Horan, taking my queen are you? I'll - oh this is my favourite line, shh-"

Niall shushes. The rapping holds off and a single voice sings _They told me that my attention span aligns, somewhat with the child or a fly_. A laugh bubbles out of Niall's mouth. 

"Always related to that one."

"You're very hard on yourself, sir." 

Nick rumples his floppy hair. Most of the time Niall's in the Oval Office Nick is The President, all suit and kindness and authority. Moments like this, when he's all soft, listening to rap music and wearing an old NYU sweater, he's all Nick. 

"We all are," Nick says, taking Niall's knight. He's probably three steps away from checkmate. "That's how you get here. But I got a little secret, Niall Horan."

Like a child in a playground, Niall leans forward. Nick's eyes are twinkling behind his horn-rimmed glasses. 

"Sometimes you have to just go home, you know? Accept you can't change the world today and lie down in bed instead." Niall thinks of Harry's stupid hair in his mouth this morning. "Oh, and checkmate."

He looks down. 

"Just once, you need to let me win," Niall says, feeling shaky.

"Don't learn anything that way," Nick says. He gets up, stretches. "Got to write your own rules, Niall. Figure out how to win that way."

"Have words of wisdom always just dripped off your tongue?" 

"Yes." Nick sniffs dramatically. "It's a blessing and a curse."

He plucks the arm off the record and the room falls to a weird silence. Niall knows that most presidents have the office perpetually silent. Not his President, though. 

"I'm going to head back to the Residence," Nick says through a yawn. "Go home, okay? Don't want to see you tomorrow until you're well rested."

"Good night, sir."

"Good night, Niall."

Niall lets himself out. Liam is at his desk, blearily looking at a large textbook. He starts up when Niall passes by.

"He ready to leave?"

"Yep." Niall watches Liam pack his stuff into a smart leather bag. "Hey Liam? What do you think of Louis?"

Liam drops his bag. His face is ripe like a tomato. "What? What - who, Louis? Louis Tomlinson? Press Secretary Louis Tomlinson? I don't - I don't think about him. I don't, uh, um, who?"

"That's what I thought."

Liam goes to get the President home, face still all kinds of red. Niall grins as he leaves. 

The White House is quiet. Every television is blaring with twenty-four hour news. Security walks around each door and each hallway, nodding to Niall's badge before they nod at his face. It's almost nine-thirty. 

Exactly this time yesterday a bomb hit the President's car. 

Niall looks at his watch. He looks out a window. It's raining, just like he knew it would. It's raining and he wants to make his own rules. 

 

It's fucking pouring by the time Niall's taxi makes it to Georgetown. 

Harry's shitty one bedroom apartment is on the second floor of a squashed yellow townhouse. Niall braves the rain to run out. There's a complicated series of buzzers and he's just wondering if he should fucking call Harry down to get him, when the door opens and a woman with a yoga mat and an umbrella walks out.

"Thanks," Niall calls as she holds the door for him to pass. 

The stairs up to Harry's are creaky and covered with lots of splotches. Niall warned him against living so close to the University, but Harry needs the noise. 

One knock, two knock, three knocks, hurried now, another one for good luck-

The door is wrenched open. "Niall?"

Harry's looking at him like he's never seen him before. Niall can't imagine his face is any different. Harry's hair is pushed back with some kind of headband elastic. His long legs are bare, the tops of his thighs peeping out from under a big University of Minnesota sweater. 

"Sorry for getting your carpet wet," Niall says, once he's caught his breath.

"That's okay, someone puked there last week."

Harry looks down, then, at his toes. Niall looks at them too. 

"Niall I don't-"

"I really really like you too," Niall says. He pushes his wet hair off his face with a hand. "Sorry for not saying that earlier." 

Harry's mouth opens, shuts. "You must be freezing. Did you walk here?" 

"Took a cab."

"Ni _all_ ," Harry whines, tipping his head back a bit. "I've told you a hundred times! Taking cars everywhere is killing our planet! There's a bus stop only a block away or you could have taken a bike, like I'm always telling you-"

Harry's mouth is just as sweet as it was this morning. He gasps a bit against Niall's lips, hot breath warming them, before letting his bottom lip between Niall's. 

Two steps and Niall slams the door closed, hands coming up to frame Harry's cheeks. Harry jumps at them, flinching away but not going too far.

"Cold," he says into Niall's mouth. 

"Sorry."

The hard line of Harry's body is warm against Niall's wet clothes and he can feel the dampness spread, the front of Harry's sweater gone dark. Their tongues slide against each other before Niall remembers his earlier thought and he breaks off, goes for the mole off Harry's mouth. 

He lays three kisses on it before Harry laughs, his hand coming up to tangle through Niall's wet hair. 

"That's not my mouth, silly."

"My bad," Niall says, sliding his mouth back over to breathe over Harry's lips. God, they've gone red and swollen. "Is this better?"

"Mmm."

Harry peels Niall's jacket off, leaves it in a pile on the hardwood floor. Following Harry's lips, Niall finds himself being pulled onto the mattress in the corner. He falls, sprawled between Harry's legs, and Harry shrieks. 

"Ahh!" he cries, squirming away from Niall's hands. "You're so cold! And wet!"

"It's raining outside, sweetheart."

"That's why I stayed inside," Harry says, tilting his head to the side as Niall kisses under his jaw. He sucks skin into his mouth, rolls it between his teeth, thinks about staying here forever. "I was warm and comfy and watching _Twin Peaks_ like five seconds ago Niall. And you ruined it."

"You seem very upset."

"I am."

Harry's thighs are soft and warm under Niall's hands. He pushes them down so Harry's spread just a bit more and fits their hips together. One slim ankle comes around Niall's, skims up his wet pant leg, and rests just under his ass. 

"Can I take this off?" Harry asks, pulling at the ends of Niall's dress shirt. At Niall's nod, he begins unbuttoning from the bottom. He helps Niall slide it off his shoulders, then runs his hands all down Niall's chest. 

"Will you freak if I put my hands under your sweater to warm them?"

"Definitely." 

Niall does it anyway. Harry's hips are round and soft. He gives a small whimper but Niall swallows it with his mouth, dipping his tongue into Harry's mouth until Harry lets himself be kissed, his own hands still petting at Niall's throat. 

With hips pressing Harry down into the mattress, it's takes Niall's hand a second to slide down the back of Harry's black boxers. Harry bites down on Niall's lip as he cups one cheek, then the other. 

"Ni, I'm-"

"Shh, baby, I've got you."

Harry pulls away, mouth wet and eyes wicked. "Did you just call me baby?"

A flush works its way over Niall's ears, the back of his neck. "No. Don't be stupid."

"Sure."

Lips press against his lips, his nose, the dark purple under his eyes. Harry's dick is hard against Niall's own and their hips shift together. Harry's long fingers deftly undo his jeans and play at the waistband of Niall's underwear. It feels like ages before Harry's fingertips are petting along his cock. 

"There you go," Niall sighs, kissing Harry's ear. "You took your time."

"No rush."

But there is, fuck, because Niall wants to see himself take Harry apart. He slides two fingers against Harry's hole and kisses the breath out of his lungs. He rubs his fingers, hard, and Harry gasps, squirms, he does it again, harder, and Harry's leg tightens around his side. 

He's a moaner, which doesn't surprise Niall in the least.

"How was that?" Niall asks, grinning down at Harry's softening face. 

"Shut up," Harry says, hoarse. He pushes at Niall shoulders until he's kneeling between Harry's sprawled legs. Harry moves up with him. "Now it's my turn."

He bends himself in half, hands on Niall's wet fabric hips, and kisses the top of Niall's cock. He catches the first spurt of Niall's come over his lips and leans back for the rest, working Niall with one hand. 

They sprawl out next to each other on the mattress, breath heavy in the silence of the apartment. Harry runs his sticky hand over his sweater, smudging the _INNE_ with Niall's come. 

"Well," Niall says, wishing he'd taken his pants off earlier. They're clinging like a second, heavy skin. "It's no blue dress but it'll have to do."

It takes a second, but Harry's face soon curls into a smile. "You're not funny."

"I'm hilarious."

"Need help getting those off?"

Together they strip Niall of his wet clothes, dropping them into a pile next to Harry's makeshift bedside table (a milk crate) along with Harry's sweater, his boxers. Naked and damp and cold, he follows Harry under the duvet, hooking their legs together. 

Harry's headband must have fallen off sometime during the madness, because his hair spreads over his pillow and onto Niall's. The tops of his cheeks are pink and his eyes are all bedroom, half mast and staring at Niall's mouth. 

"Was that a good idea?" Harry asks, putting his hand over Niall's neck. 

"Not sure yet." Niall draws shapes into the soft dip between Harry's ribs and hip. "We could try again, though, if you wanna see?"

Harry presses his grin to Niall's throat. "Maybe in a bit."

The lights are still on overhead and Netflix is paused over a close-up of Audrey and they really should lock the front door but for now they stay like this, pressed together, and hope it's enough.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm still just a sad canadian. (@[butternutstyles](http://butternutstyles.tumblr.com))


End file.
